


Magic Dance

by valderys



Category: Life on Mars (UK), Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, locks/chains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems life doesn't change that much, even in the arse-end of a different universe.  Ianto is still being pushed around by arrogant cops.  And he's still pushing back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This a crossover with Life on Mars and my [Torchwood AU](http://valderys.livejournal.com/40226.html) in which Ianto became a career criminal. It got written because I had a sudden visceral urge to write these characters together in their full testosterone-laden glory! The title is a Bowie song, to match LOM, and it has particular significance to Gareth, if not actually Ianto :)

"I haven't a fucking clue what you're talking about," said Ianto 'Bloody Bastard' Jones, from his unenviable position beneath the boot of a bullish gentleman in a camel-hair coat.

"That's right, Mr Dog's Dinner, I expect you're going to tell me you were hit by a car, or shot, or fell and bumped your precious skull, and you're from the future, right? Well, save it, twinkle-toes, I've heard it all before."

Ianto felt his ear being ground a little further into the dirt, and seethed. As it happened, he'd brushed one of the smuggled artifacts from Torchwood Three, which had been an accident, because he had more fucking sense than to touch any of that weird-shit stuff. He had minions for that, for fuck's sake. What he did know was that Jimmy 'the Greaser' was going to get the kicking of his life when he got home.

In the meantime, well. Ianto could smell the sickly sweet stench of pig from a mile away. It didn't matter that this was some alien place or time, that distinctive cologne of petty power and self-righteousness was impossible to miss. The boot might have changed but nothing else had. He steeled himself and prepared to choke on humble pie.

"I'm very sorry, officer. I don't know what I might have done to deserve your _kind_ attentions."

Suddenly, the boot was gone and Ianto was being yanked to his feet. Blue eyes in a weather-beaten face were looking back at him. Ianto didn't think he'd quite managed to hide his disgust quick enough, because the fuzz smiled at him.

"I'm the Gene-Genie, or Mr Hunt to you, and you can trust me on this – you don't want to piss me off."

Ianto was pretty sure that he'd only been in this oh-so-perfect new universe for the best part of ten minutes. Even with his reputation for efficiency, it'd take effort to seriously break the law in that kind of time. He smiled back, baring his teeth, and said, "Oh yes – and how would I do that then? Just so that I can… avoid it."

He must have done something right. Gene Hunt grabbed his tie and shirt, balling them up in his fist, before back-pedalling Ianto into the nearest wall. Ianto would have laughed if he'd had the breath left – oh yeah, he still had it. Pity about the tie though – it was Armani.

"Don't screw with me, you poncy leek-eating poofter, I know your type."

Gene's breath smelt disturbingly of tinned tomato sauce, how typically boorish. Ianto stared into his eyes and wondered how to play this. Gene was all up close and in Ianto's personal space, and he'd just called him a poofter – if he tried it on, would it put the man off-balance, or would it earn him a beating? Might almost be worth it.

Ianto smiled again, and then pushed his hips forward. Never let it be said that he wasn't proficient with all the tools of his trade, and the flying visits that inter-galactic con-man of his paid, were… educational, at the very least. Gene was rough and tough and meant it – in other circumstances Ianto could have been genuinely persuaded, if Gene wasn't the Old Bill. He liked efficiency in others too.

Now that was an interesting development. Gene stiffened, but he didn't pull away. And he was stiffened in other parts too, and didn't look ashamed of it. Ianto cocked his head and smirked.

"I'm innocent of all charges – unless you want to make some."

Gene crowded Ianto further into the wall. Ianto could feel the buttons in Gene's shirt, and his belt buckle digging into his own hip. He could feel the long hot length of him through two layers of wool, and pushed back to get some friction of his own. Yes, that was fucking it, just there, just right… Ianto could get to like this place, he really could.

And then, quick as a flash, designed to unbalance him, and bugger if Ianto was going to let it, Gene pulled back, hauled him round, and slammed him up against the wall face first. Ianto nearly fought back. Nearly. He could smack this smug son of a bitch around – he _knew_ it. But it was a cardinal rule – you didn't fuck with the fuzz. You said yes sir, please sir, three bags fucking full sir – or you'd go down. And sometimes you'd go down anyway, but if you touched one hair on their bloody heads, then it'd be ten times worse… Ianto hated following the rules - there was a reason why he'd kicked the straight and narrow path right into the canal, but in this case. Well, whoever said crime didn't pay was lying through their teeth, but you still didn't touch a cop.

Ianto could feel the rough brick gritty against his skin, and his palms were stinging from where he'd caught himself, but Gene hadn't followed it up with a rabbit-punch to the kidneys, so it wasn't all bad. Then Ianto felt Gene press behind him again, the wings of his camel coat folding around them, his cock hot and hard against the crack of Ianto's arse. He nearly groaned – reminded of other occasions, another's coat - but he bit his lip instead and shoved back, bracing himself on the wall. He grinned into his hands, because the groan that followed, wasn't his.

Then Gene was grabbing one of his wrists and then the other, and it was all terribly familiar. The click of the cuffs, and the icy bite of metal, was enough to have him panting, his mouth open, with Gene still crowded up behind him, teasing him. Ianto wanted friction, dammit, but this was part of the power-play, so he didn't push it, he didn't beg. This was like some hot and dirty dance, with no certainty about the last movement; Gene could leave him hot and aching, and Ianto wouldn't say a word.

Then he felt Gene's warm breath on his ear, as he leaned in, "Now then, Miss Smarty-Pants, you might think you're an innocent flower, but everyone knows flowers are grown in shit, so don't come the virgin-arsed petal with me. You may think you come up smelling of roses, but let me tell you, Ianto Huw Jones, AKA 'Bloody Bastard' Jones, AKA the Terrier, AKA the stupid git who's ruining my day, you have a charge sheet as long as my arm, and just because this is the first time we've met, I wouldn't want you to think that your fame has gone unnoticed."

Ianto twisted his head a little, baring his throat just enough, he hoped. He felt Gene's lips graze his ear.

"Or unappreciated," said Gene, finally, his voice a low growl that went straight to Ianto's cock.

Ianto laughed, deep and husky. This was it. This was the kind of game that made life worth living. Even here, in the arse-end of the universe. He pulled his wrists apart, just to feel the metal burn, and decided not to worry about how this Gene Hunt knew his charge sheet. It was all speculation anyway – because he'd never been caught. Damn right he should be appreciated.

Here he was, cuffed, restrained, and powerful. He'd never felt so free.

Then there was a flickering light, like a overly demented strobe, and Ianto felt himself fading away. He grinned like a mad thing, as he listened to Gene Hunt cursing as Ianto literally slipped through his fingers.

"You'd better be back, you cock-teasing joker," Gene was shouting, and as Ianto was pulled back together into his constituent parts, still smiling, still with the bite of metal circling his wrists, he rather thought that he ought to prove Gene right

Besides, it would be a shame to leave the game unfinished. Whatever it was, a fight, a job - a smug, self-satisfied prick of a policeman. He was Ianto 'Bloody Bastard' Jones. He never walked away.


End file.
